


the thrill and the hurting

by thefudge



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Holiday Fic Exchange, Huddling For Warmth, Mutual Pining, Northern Lights, Weddings, ost: kate bush - never be mine, winterprincess christmas exchange 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21993811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: She shivers with the cold, but mostly she shivers because he’s only a breath away.  (written for the Winterprincess Christmas Exchange 2019)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Shuri, background Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 81





	the thrill and the hurting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wakandawinterprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandawinterprincess/gifts).



> This is a gift for @wakandawinterprincess! I combined her two prompts: "warming up" and "Northern lights".  
> Hope you enjoy it! Happy holidays! (and congrats for keeping this event going!)
> 
> (am i also using this fic to peddle my steve/natasha endgame AU? mayhaps!)

_Ooh, the thrill and the hurting_   
_Will never be mine._   
_The thrill and the hurting,_   
_It will never be mine._   
_It can never be._

kate bush - never be mine 

***

Shuri sets down the vodka shot. Bast, it burns. And it tastes like thorn apples, the kind the elders always said were poisonous. But she’d rather die than say that out loud. She’s twenty-one, of legal drinking age anywhere in the world, and she’s determined to drink alcohol at every important occasion, just to prove a point. 

Nobody told her how much drinking is done at a Russian wedding, however. 

The waiter smiles gleefully as he pours her another shot and says something encouraging in Russian.

Shuri’s laugh is brittle. What can she do? She nods, raises her glass, downs it with a grimace.

When the waiter starts pouring her a third - apparently, things here are done in three, like the Holy Trinity - she’s just about ready to start crying. 

Luckily, a hand blocks the passage to her mouth.

Bucky Barnes, dressed to the nines and clearly unhappy about it, takes the glass eagerly and drinks it for her. 

He tells the waiter something in Russian and the men exchange a covert smile as the waiter pours him another shot. 

Shuri has an inkling they’re talking about her. But she won’t press the matter. She’s just grateful he saved her from another bout of poison. 

“How can you drink that?” she mutters under her breath. “I would imagine they use this stuff to torture prisoners.”

Bucky chuckles. “I would’ve preferred vodka to the alternative.”

In the past, Shuri would have felt like an idiot for bringing up a sensitive topic like that, but during the course of his treatment, she came to learn that Bucky welcomed opportunities for humor. He enjoyed poking fun at his demons, now and then. It was a way of putting the past behind him, without trying to deny it. 

She gives him a small smile. “You certainly _looked_ tortured during the ceremony.” 

Bucky grumbles bearishly. “There’s too much fanfare involved. I’m ready for it to end.” 

“You mean you don’t want to celebrate Steve and Natasha’s eternal love?” Shuri teases. But she knows from experience that Barnes’ real discomfort lies with exposure. He doesn’t like being stared at, doesn’t like being the center of attention. 

While he was happy to act as Steve’s best man, the actual logistics of the position have overwhelmed him. 

And he knows that she knows, which is why they can talk about it _without_ talking about it.

Bucky shrugs. “They can celebrate it without me.”

Shuri gives him a pointed look. “Don’t be a grump. You were a very dashing best man.” 

Bucky’s hand instinctively goes to his half-crumpled bowtie. He has been wrestling with it all night. “That’s one word for it.” 

“Come off it. Did you notice the way Natasha’s bridesmaids were staring at you?” 

Bucky hums uncomfortably, staring down at his shoes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“One of them is staring right now!” Shuri protests, louder than she intended. To be fair, two shots of vodka are enough to put her over the edge. She points to the other end of the ballroom where a blond woman is eyeing the ex-Soldier while pretending to talk to her friends. 

Bucky quickly takes Shuri’s hand. “Don’t do that, Princess.” 

Shuri gets distracted by the feel of his warm, slightly rough fingers on her wrist. She tells herself it’s the alcohol. That’s why she barrels on. “What? It’s not like it’s a _secret_ that you’re attractive.” 

Bucky’s eyes land on her bare shoulders for a moment. She is wearing a red wrap dress, the bust in the shape of a heart as it traces her chest. She bought it in New York. She proudly tells everyone who’ll listen that it only cost 40 dollars. The jewelry, however, is Wakandian and priceless as it trails down from her ears and neck in a glittering display. Bucky wrests his gaze away. He wants to tell her she is the one who looks beautiful, but it doesn’t sound right. And he knows he’s not supposed to - well, he’s _not_ supposed to. 

She makes it very hard, though, as she leans closer, making him hyper-aware of her scent and the softness of her skin. She whispers to him conspiratorially. “If you want, I can be your chickman.”

Bucky frowns for a long moment, completely thrown off.

And then his face lights up and he can’t help laughing, _really_ laughing, for the first time in weeks. 

“I, uh, think you mean _wingman_.”

Shuri blinks. “No, I -” She blushes when she realizes her mistake. “Well, you get the point!”

He’s still laughing, his features transformed entirely by the humor in his eyes and mouth. Shuri stares at him. She wants to tell him he should smile more often, but the moment is thankfully interrupted by one of the hostesses shouting something in Russian to the whole room.

There’s sudden, uncoordinated movement as the guests reach for their coats and hats. 

“What’s going on?” 

Bucky pulls her towards their table. “We’re going out to see the Northern Lights.”

“ _Outside_?” she asks stupidly. “But it’s freezing!”

Not that the drafty ballroom is particularly warm, but she can’t imagine willingly subjecting herself to more cold. This entire Russian trip has been far more taxing for her than for Bucky. When Natasha chose the motherland for her wedding location, nobody dared to complain. Shuri worried about Bucky adjusting to the place where it all began, but she shouldn’t have. 

No, she should have brought warmer clothes, though.

Bucky helps her with her shawl and coat, and she’s grateful, because the vodka is suddenly making her fidgety and nervous. His hands run down her arms, smoothing down the coat. His metal fingers press into her skin. He mutters, “too thin” against her back and it’s meant to be a reprimand - he always acts a little too protective around her - but his voice comes out low and heavy with something that she can’t quite untangle. And he must’ve noticed it himself, because he steps aside quickly. 

Shuri swallows. “Okay, let’s go.”

She takes his arm before he changes his mind.

It’s silly, really. They’ve been in more intimate positions in the past. She nursed him back to health, saw him bleed and vomit and drool on her lab table, brushed his hair and helped him stand up. He used to whisper her name and hold her hand when the treatment got too bad and he wanted to quit. They didn’t use to feel so self-conscious about their proximity. 

Maybe she’s only imagining it, the strange electricity. 

Maybe she’s just anticipating the cold. 

  
  


The bright green and purple snake meanders through the night sky, unfurling its many heads like a flowering predator. It’s as if the air’s arteries are swollen. Oddly enough, it reminds her of home. Of magic and design, of beauty and awe. And a little terror too. 

She’s not afraid of him. She’s never been. Not when she knew what he used to do. Not when she had to fix him. Not when he sometimes lost control.

So why should she feel a twinge now? He’s getting better every day, he’s a changed man. Or rather, he’s returned to himself.

There’s nothing to fear. 

She shivers with the cold, but mostly she shivers because he’s only a breath away. 

Bucky knows he should find her brother and deliver her to him. T’Challa is standing with his back to them next to Nakia. He could walk her over to them. That’s where her family is. He is on the fringes, lucky enough to be part of anything.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t do that. 

He wants to keep her to himself a minute longer. He’s selfish like that. He’s always been selfish, always taking too much and never saying sorry. If he said sorry to her now, she’d ask him “what for?”. And he wouldn’t know where to begin. 

So when she brushes up against him, still shivering, plumes of steam spilling from her mouth, he does the only thing he wants to do. 

He puts his arm around her. He gathers her to him. 

Shuri is still for a moment, slow to process. His warmth and his smell are dizzying and her breathing gets a little difficult. She burrows into him, leaning against his chest, afraid this moment might break. Butterflies swarm in her belly. She stares up at the multi-colored sky and swallows. 

Bucky covers her hands with his, stroking them, trying to warm them up. Metal and bare skin. 

“No gloves,” he chides, but there is a strange unreality to his voice. His chin rests almost atop her hair, but not quite. His breath falls against her forehead. 

Shuri tangles her fingers with his. “You’re not wearing gloves either.”

It feels like an admission of guilt, like they’re both responsible for something they can’t take back. 

Shuri is afraid he’ll run. She’s afraid she’ll run too. So she talks. 

“Do you know any legends about the Lights? I’m sure people in the past came up with all sorts of stories to explain them.”

Bucky stays silent for a few moments. She can tell from the angle of his head and the shadow that falls on her that he is not watching the Lights. He is watching her.

Finally, he says, “From what I know, the Russians used to think the Lights were a fire dragon.”

“A fire dragon,” she repeats, breathless. She keeps her eyes on the sky. “I can see it. What did the fire dragon do?”

Bucky breathes warm air against her forehead. His hold on her tightens imperceptibly. He knows he should stop. He should let her go. He says, “I don’t know. I guess terrorize the villagers.”

He’s lying. He knows what the legends say. 

The fire dragons came down from the sky and seduced young women, stole them from their family. 

Shuri finally looks up at him. She cranes her neck, can only see his face in shadow.

“You’re lying.”

She can always tell. She’s pried so many secrets from him. What’s one more? 

Bucky looks down at her. There’s something hopeful in her eyes, something like yearning, and it almost cuts him at the knee. 

He knows very well he can never have her. She’s a princess, still a child, born to rule and be surrounded by good people, people of quality. He’s a murderer, a dead man walking, no better than a ghost. He’s nothing compared to her. And yet she clings to him, she allows him to hold her, and she tells him, without using words, that she wants his company. And he, the villain, wants more. He should be happy with her friendship. 

Shuri parts her lips. Their mouths share steam. He knows it’s a delirious thought, but what if he kissed her here and now? In front of everyone? Nobody is watching. They’re all looking at the sky. 

T’Challa would probably sentence him to death, but it would be worth it. 

Shuri shares his madness. She leans closer, bridging the distance. Her heart beats a loud tattoo. She wants to feel his lips on hers, realizes she’s wanted this for a long time. She is ashamed and elated and _upset_ , because she never planned on falling for the _Winter Soldier_ , of all men. Her family would never even conceive of allowing her to be with him. She knows that all too well. 

So why not steal this moment? 

Why not at least _pretend_ it could be true? 

He says her name softly, darkly, as their lips almost brush. 

The sudden whistle and explosion makes them start. 

Bucky’s metal arm comes around her like a shield. 

They both look up.

Fireworks bloom against the Northern Lights, a cacophony of noise and color. The wedding guests whoop and cheer.

The culprits exhale, adrenaline running through their veins. They were so close. 

They stare at each other for a moment longer, before they untangle. 

Shuri feels the cold sink in when his arms drop away. She begins to clap mechanically. Bucky joins her.

He can see Steve in the distance, holding his bride in his arms, aglow with happiness. 

Bucky is happy for his best friend, he really is. Steve deserves this more than anyone. 

But for a moment, he feels a stab of jealousy. Just a stab. He can never have what he wants. He doesn't deserve it. 

He clears his throat. “Shuri, I should go -”

She puts her hand over his arm. “Yes. Let’s go back inside. I want to give vodka another try. Say you’ll join me. Please.” 

And she looks at him with hope and despair and even a little authority. 

His princess. 

He can do little but obey. He smiles.

Shuri squeezes his arm, afraid to say more.

He follows her inside. 

Neither of them notice Nakia watching them from afar. 


End file.
